


the way you like it

by perfectpro



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:44:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4206729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectpro/pseuds/perfectpro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an evening spent clubbing with the rest of their friends, Stiles and Lydia go home together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the way you like it

**Author's Note:**

> The only purpose of this story is an excuse for me to write a ton of Stiles/Lydia smut. Mission accomplished.

There’s nothing quite like losing oneself to the music. It’s the only thing that can make Lydia truly relax sometimes, because she needs to get her mind off everything in her life that’s falling to shit. She can ignore the voicemail from Deaton that says something about a witch who’s been claiming victims left and right and stealing their teeth as souvenirs, the paper she doesn’t want to start about an alternative to the base ten system that modern cultures rely on, and the postcard her mother had sent from somewhere in the Caribbean on her honeymoon.

Convincing Allison to come with her hadn’t been an easy task, but Lydia had kept at it until her friend had agreed. Of course, it had also meant agreeing to the stipulation that Scott and Stiles were allowed to come as well, but Lydia had simply rolled her eyes and nodded her head. Now, she reflects that she should have put up a little more of fight, but it’ll be fine. Scott and Allison are quietly grinding in a corner, looking like they’re truly having fun. Lydia suspects that it’s one of the few times they’ve had to themselves recently. 

Stiles is over by the bar, trying to flirt with the bartender who sees right through it. It’s kind of amusing, really, how hard he’s trying compared with the results he’s getting.

Finally, she takes pity on Stiles, putting a hand on his shoulder and drawing him away from the bar. “Dance with me,” she tells me, pulling him towards the mass of people in the middle of the club. This is why she came, because dancing makes her feel like she can forget everything else. Having to keep her friend company doesn’t mean that she’s going to forgo the reason why she came here.

Stiles goes reluctantly, eyes still wandering along the bartender’s lithe form even as Lydia presses him backward to the crowd. Finally, he sighs, looking at Lydia and agreeing. “I had a shot with her,” he says, craning his neck as he looks back.

No matter times he gets shot down, Stiles always thinks he has a chance. It’s endearing, sort of. Endearing in the sort of way that makes Lydia want to point out the fact that the girl he’s been hitting on has a smear of lipstick by her ear and has been serving the women at the bar quicker than she serves the men. Still, she supposes that she doesn’t really need to burst his bubble, so instead she leans forward and pointedly says, “You’re not dancing with me.”

Rolling his eyes, he gives in finally, wedging himself through the people and alongside her. They fit fairly well together since she’s wearing heels, and it’s not bad. Stiles could learn a few things about rhythm, but he’s not a bad dancer.

“What?” he asks, leaning forward to put his face closer to her in order to hear. 

“Nothing, nothing,” Lydia responds, embarrassed to realize she’d spoken aloud. She sighs and leans back against him, pressing her back against his hips as she glances around them. They’re surrounded by others who have come with the same motive as she has, she suspects. These people just want to lose themselves for a little while before they have to come back to reality. It’s a larger crowd, and the scene more wild than she’s seen here before. It’s nearly a full moon, but the percentage of the population affected by the lunar cycle is basically negligible. Scott is an outlier, and she thinks he would have noticed if there was another wolf in their presence.

There’s a pause in between songs, and Stiles catches her wrist to stop her from leaving. “You came here to dance,” he points out, his voice coming out a little too loud now that it doesn’t have to rise over the music. “Come on, stay and dance with me.” 

Another song comes on, some latest hit that Lydia loves and blares in her car whenever it comes on the radio. That and the pleading look on Stiles’s face is enough to make her laugh and turn back to him, this time so that they’re facing each other. He grins, easily pleased, when she slides her hands around his neck and laughs. “You’re the one who wasn’t dancing before,” she tells him, glancing meaningfully back over to the bar.

Stiles rolls his eyes again, moving to the beat as best he can. “I didn’t have a dance partner then,” he responds, running his eyes down her body almost lazily.

It’s something she’s come to be accustomed to, how Stiles is attracted to her in a way that doesn’t seem to be demanding. He doesn’t seem to care that she knows, just leaves it there. They’ve both changed since high school, anyone can see, but he still wants her. Not exclusively her, and not in a way that makes her feel like he’s placed her on a pedestal, but like she’s a regular human being and he happens to want her. Most of the time she doesn’t acknowledge it since it doesn’t seem to bother anything, but sometimes she wonders. 

He runs his hands along her hips and pulls her a little closer, and she presses back in kind. The gentle pressure is almost enough to make her consider giving it a shot, but she hasn’t had enough to drink to really give it a go. So she sighs instead, noticing how loud the music has gotten and how many more people have gathered on the dancefloor. Leaning forward to get closer to his ear, she says in a voice only a little lower than a shout, “We should do this more often.” As she goes to pull away, someone jostles her from behind, causing to her to move forward and capture Stiles’s earlobe in her mouth, dragging her teeth along the sensitive skin.

Stiles clearly wasn’t expecting that, because when she does pull away he freezes. Then, slowly, he lifts a hand to her cheek, tracing her jawline carefully with his fingers. Lydia leans into his touch, watching with anticipation as he closes the distance between their lips. She pushes back against him momentarily and opens her mouth when he runs his tongue along her bottom lip. It’s easy, so easy to lose herself in the kiss.

She tightens her arms behind his neck and brings him back towards her when he tries to pull away momentarily.

“You’re right, we should do this more often,” Stiles whispers against her neck as he kisses down from her lips and against the column of her throat. 

If there’s one thing that does Lydia in, it’s neck kissing. She’s not ashamed of the way her body responds to it, although it can be embarrassing how breathy her voice gets during.

“Hm,” she hums, trying keep her the sound from coming out at a higher octave than she usually talks in. She knows how Stiles gets when he knows he can affect a person, and the last thing she wants to see is his usual triumphant yet goofy grin.

When she looks down at him, it’s a different expression that she’s looking at, but no less triumphant. His hooded eyes stare back up at her through his impossibly long lashes, and his mouth is twisted in the sort of smirk that should not make her feel as though her stomach has dropped out of her body and fallen onto the floor, and yet. And yet. She twines her fingers through his hair and yanks him back up to her, pressing herself against him.

The music has gotten louder, it seems like, and there must be more people surrounding them, because that’s the only explanation Lydia can come with for why it feels so much hotter so suddenly and the only excuse she can come up with for pressing herself against him as closely as she does. They dance for a while longer, although it’s not so much dancing as it is trying to move to the beat when the other person is distracting the other so. The songs change, one beat blending into the next, and still they keep dancing. Stiles has turned her around and is pressing into her back, and Lydia hasn’t been keeping track of how long they’ve been like this when he says around the shell of her ear, “Scott and Allison just headed out.”

Some part of her thinks that she’d like it if she could always feel his warm breath on her skin, because she almost has goosebumps from the sensation. Still, she nods and tosses her head back against him to find his mouth. They meet somewhere in the middle, and there isn’t a lot of coordination and it’s just this side of messy but Lydia doesn’t want it any other way. Kissing her deeply, Stiles presses his hand tighter against her hips and Lydia grinds on him a little harder. 

“We should… We should get going, too,” she admits, pulling ever so slightly away. As soon as she’s said the words, Stiles takes a hold of her hand and walks through the crowd of people with her until they’ve reached the door.

Now that they are no longer in the center of a mass of people doing the same thing, Stiles seems a little more abashed about their behavior. He loses whatever momentum he’d had going only moments before, and Lydia knows that this is the moment where they make a decision. Or, more accurately, she makes a decision. Stiles has always been very up front about his feelings for her, and now it’s time for her to return the favor.

They walk into the parking lot, Lydia still gripping his hand as she crowds him against the rough wall of the club. She moves towards him slowly, predatorily, and the realization has Stiles feeling lightheaded. He raises his head to her and kisses her slowly, almost languidly, until she deepens it by dragging her teeth across his bottom lip.

“Come home with me,” Lydia gasps, minutes later, closing her eyes as Stiles sucks a bruise into her neck.

“Is Lydia Martin propositioning me?” he asks, adopting an innocent expression as he pretends to think about her words. He’s surprised when he pulls away to find her staring at him through slightly lowered eyelids, her lips pouting at him sulkily. “What makes you think I’m going to be that easy?” His words come out fast, and his voice comes out desperate, and they both know she’s the only one who can wreck him so easily.

Still, she plays along, as though she has to convince him. Turning her head to where one of his hands had been stroking her jawline, she moves it with a hand of her own and holds it in front of her. Then, slowly, she arranges it to where he’s holding out his index and middle finger out to her, and she takes them in her mouth. Swirling her tongue around the digits, Lydia hollows out her cheeks and draws them in and out of her mouth.

The sight itself is enough to have Stiles half-hard and struggling not to moan. The parking lot isn’t exactly full of spectators, but there are some people around them and he’s never gotten the feeling that Lydia had a voyeurism kink. He manages to keep quiet enough, though he lets out a broken noise that he knows she takes as a victory.

When she’s finished with his fingers, she moves his hand down to the hem of her dress. Over the night, it’s ridden up to where it’s barely covering her thighs anymore, and Stiles appreciates the sight distractedly before sucking in his breath when Lydia slots herself against him and stands on her tip toes to take his earlobe into her mouth.

She runs her tongue lightly over his skin before whispering, “You’re going to come home with me. I’m going to make you forget everything you’ve ever heard except for my name. It’s going to be hot, and sweaty, and perfect. I want you to eat me out until I’m a mess, shaking and soaked and ready for you, and then you’re going to fuck me so hard that my bedframe will break. Okay?”

If that isn’t one of the dirtiest things he’s ever heard. He moans at the thought, and then he nods. As if he ever could turn her down. “I’ll come with you,” he tells her, his voice coming out gravely and low. 

“Well, if you’re not sure,” she says, purposefully teasing him. Running a hand through his hair, she fingers the short ends gingerly while circling her tongue right under his ear, enjoying the way that his breath hitches.

He doesn’t know why he expected her to make this easy on him. Lydia doesn’t go easy on anyone, and he’s no exception. And if she wants him to beg the same way that she has, so be it. In all honesty, he’s still surprised she was so quick about it. “Please,” he says, not caring about if there are people anywhere close by. “Please, let me come home with you.” He swallows and moves that he’s kissing her neck, drawing out the loveliest of sounds. 

“What if I changed my mind? What if I want to go home by myself?” she inquires, and even though he knows that she’s already sold, he decides that he can convince her a little further if that’s what she needs.

“I’d let you go home alone,” he allows, kneading a hand on her upper thigh. “Because you’re so wound up right now, you need someone to take care of you. And when there’s no one but yourself in your bed, you won’t be able to resist thinking about what it could have been like.”

The sigh she lets out as she tips her head back is all the answer he was looking for. “Yeah?”

Because it’s still a question, he keeps going, “Yeah. I know you, Lydia, and you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself. One more night fingering yourself, thinking what I’d be like. My fingers, my tongue,” he elaborates, pausing to suck harshly on a patch of unblemished pale skin. “It would all be your imagination, though. And you’ve had your imagination before. Why don’t you let me come back with you? The next time you think about it, you won’t have to wonder what it would have been like.”

Lydia looks at him through darkened eyes before lifting him off her neck and positioning his face directly in front of hers. Leaning in slowly, she kisses him perfunctorily. It’s a thorough kiss, and when she pulls away she looks much more like herself. “You’ll come home with me.”

It’s not a question, but he nods anyway. “I’ll come home with you.”

Her eyes are bright and perfect as she grins with satisfaction at him. “Wonderful choice,” she whispers, leaning in to kiss him quickly before leading him through the parking lot to her Prius. When Stiles pulls away from her long enough to climb into the passenger’s seat, he hums as she buckles her seatbelt and starts the car.

“How long does it take to get back to your place?” he asks her, his hands folded in his lap like the very picture of virtue. It makes Lydia was to teach him the ways of the seven deadly sins, but think doesn’t know if they’ll have that much time. Just one will suffice, and everyone knows that lust is the most fun.

Running her eyes over him, she says, “Twenty five minutes with heavy traffic.” When she’d driven over, it had been the tail end of rush hour and she’d made it in twenty. It’s now a little past midnight and cars on the road will be scarce, but she doesn’t think she can cut down that time by much.

Nodding, Stiles reaches over and pulls her to him, kissing her one last time before they get going. He licks into her mouth, hot and dirty, before pulling back with a smirk. “Why don’t you be a good girl and make it ten?”

Lydia doesn’t have a praise kink, but when Stiles’s voice comes out demanding and curious… It makes her squeeze her legs together as she looks to the lot and pulls out of the parking space. “I’ll see what I can do.” Miracle of miracles, she doesn’t sound nearly as affected as she feels, and the first bit of the drive goes as expected. Stiles turns the radio to some station that has music Lydia doesn’t mind. She’s speeding a little bit, maybe ten miles over the posted limit, nothing bad enough to make her worry. With how abandoned the roads are now, she’s going to be able to see a cop car a mile away.

“Lydia,” Stiles says, grinning when she doesn’t even look away from the road to respond, just makes a humming noise to let him know that she’s heard. Her hands are on the wheel in the perfect 10 and 2 o’clock positions, like something out of a driver’s ed manual. She’s so composed. He wants to wreck her, have her a sobbing mess beneath him, or over top him. He isn’t picky.

With a less practiced driver or someone who wasn’t such a stickler for the rules, this wouldn’t work at all, Stiles knows. He’s always wanted to try this, and Lydia is the perfect test subject. He unbuckles his seatbelt and moves closer to the console, leaning over to kiss Lydia’s collarbone. “I was serious about what I said before. Ten minutes,” he breathes against her neck before moving his tongue along the sensitive skin. 

The breathy sigh she lets slip is all the encouragement he needs before he’s mouthing at her neck until it’s sloppy and slick with his spit. Dragging his teeth over the area slowly, he looks up at her to gauge her reaction. Her eyes are still on the road, though her pupils are wide. One hand is still on the steering wheel and the other has been moved to… Oh, he’d been hoping for this. The sight is still better than he’d expected, and while he’d known it would send a rush of blood to his dick, he hadn’t thought his stomach would flip the way it does. “Let me do that,” he whispers, moving a hand between her thighs to replace her own.

“Stiles,” she groans, swallowing. 

“Both hands on the wheel now,” he chastises her, pushing the hem of her dress up to reveal the sheer floral panties she’d worn underneath. “Well, these are rather nice. Were you planning on going home with someone?” He palms her through the thin fabric, delighted to find that the fabric is damp.

Placing her other hand back on the wheel carefully, she bites her lip to keep from making another sound. When she does speak, her voice comes out measured. “I wasn’t hoping to go home alone.” She eyes the speedometer before applying pressure to the accelerator in the same measure that Stiles is applying pressure to her crotch. As he moves his hand slowly up and down, she shifts her hips the slightest bit. She needs more than this.

Stiles is so enjoying this, the sight of Lydia Martin worked up over him. But when she tries to adjust the pace, he stops moving his hand entirely. “You’ll take what I give you,” he tells her, sounding huskier than he means to. The tone must do something to Lydia, though, because the material gets even wetter at his words. “Oh, God, you like it when I’m demanding, fuck. Bet you wish I was always three fingers deep in you.” He can’t help himself, he’s always been a talker. Sex removes what little filter he does have, and he just has to hope that Lydia’s into dirty talk because it comes out before he can stop it.

“You can keep talking, but only if you mean what you say. Three fingers,” she says, and her voice is a warning. Stiles has never had sex with a girl who is this direct, who makes sex into a warning, but he’s never had sex with Lydia Martin before. His cock twitches at her tone, and he bites his lip as he moves the material out of the way and moves his fingers deftly between her thighs. She’s already worked up, and he can’t but be proud of the fact that he’s the one that’s done it. He makes quick work of parting her labia and traces the area as though he’s trying to get acquainted. 

Now that she’s parted her thighs slightly for him, he nips at her earlobe and moves through her folds. “You’re already wet, shit. This is going to be so easy, I can’t believe how easy you are. Just some hard kissing, and a few sentences where I lowered my voice. I absolutely can’t believe this, how easy you are for me.”

“Fuck, Stiles,” Lydia snaps, hips canting involuntarily.

That’s all it takes before he’s slipped a finger in her. She takes it readily, clearly eager for more, but Stiles keeps his eyes on her as he bites her collarbone gently. He’s not really interested in sexing them into death by a fiery car crash because Lydia’s too busy with her pleasure to mind the road. Luckily, Lydia seems to have more determination than he would in this situation, because she’s still looking straight ahead. Her hands haven’t moved, either, although the left one drifts down as he notices. 

“Both hands, Lydia,” he says, punctuating his words with a thrust into her, slipping in a second finger as he does so.

She rolls her window down with the touch of a button, and then her hand finds his hair and twists into it. She tugs a little bit at her own scalp and rolls her hips. “Three fingers, Stiles,” she counters, high and throaty. The fresh air rushes into the vehicle and Lydia feels a little less desperate, now. 

After a few more pumps, he does as he’s promised and pushes three fingers into her slick heat, noticing how the car swerves slightly before Lydia corrects it and steers them straight down the narrow road. He keeps the speed deliciously slow, loving how the rev of the engine accompanies his motion. “It’s been eight minutes,” he reminds her, pushing in farther before crooking them slightly. They don’t hit anything special, evidenced by the way that Lydia barely seems to notice, so he’s going to keep searching. Lydia’s abdomen is shaking from the effort of not rocking down on him, and he appreciates the effort, he really does. Seeing her like this has him so hard it’s almost painful. Her dress shucked up to where her panties are on full display, the white column of her throat trembling, the concentration that’s evident in her control over the vehicle. He palms himself through his jeans with his other hand and tries to keep from letting out a shaky moan.

“Don’t touch yourself,” Lydia commands, strict and full of promise. He removes him hand and places it on the wheel, over her right one, squeezing it gently.

“Do you have an alternative plan?” he asks sweetly.

Even though she doesn’t look nearly as composed as she had at the beginning of the night, Stiles hasn’t had enough of an effect on her yet that she isn’t able to bite her lip and say, “Many, and none of them involve you getting off by yourself.”

That certainly doesn’t solve his problem, but Stiles doesn’t always need instant gratification. In fact, in his experience, the longer it’s delayed the better it is. So he runs his tongue along her jaw and pushes into her harder in lieu of being able to get any friction for himself.

Biting her lip, she presses harder on the accelerator as she hopes wildly that there aren’t any police cars out now. She’s going double the speed limit, seventy in a thirty five with no excuse other than the maddening boy who’s refusing to give her what she needs. No officer in his right mind would let her off with a warning. She wonders what Stiles will do if she takes longer than ten minutes, because she thinks she wants to find out. 

“What are you thinking about?” Stiles asks, kissing her jaw chastely. “You squeezed your thighs together. I know you’re thinking about something, because you don’t seem that close to coming.”

She breathes out shakily but doesn’t answer him, and Stiles stops moving his hand as he looks at her properly. Her hair, initially pulled back at the beginning of the night, has a few loose strands flying around in the wind. Her pupils aren’t quite blown, but they are definitely dilated. “You don’t have to tell me, Lyds, it’s okay,” he finally whispers, moving his head back to her neck and getting his fingers going again. They’re good friends and now maybe they’re something a little more, but he doesn’t really know what they are anymore, only that she doesn’t have to tell him if she doesn’t want to. What turns her on is her business if she wants it to be.

“Please, I need more, just a bit more. Faster, please,” Lydia tells him, and it’s almost a whine. And Stiles had only planned on getting her worked up on the ride over, but now he has a much different plan. He’s never been able to say no to her, so he picks up the pace and doesn’t comment on how she start to meet his thrusts, simply tugs on her alabaster skin until he’s sure it’ll bruise in the morning.

“You look so good like this, God. I’ve dreamt of how you’d be, whether you’d be loud or demanding or…” He drifts off, pushing into her faster as he hears her breathing pick up. “You’re so close, I know, I know. You can do this, I know you can. You can come, please, Lydia, God, you are so hot. You’re so much hotter than I ever could have thought was even possible. Come for me, please, please,” he says, crooking his fingers in a different direction at the same time that he flicks his thumb against her clit. And she does, his redheaded beauty does come for him, somehow managing to keep her eyes open and on the road as she grinds against his fingers. He bites her shoulder as she stifles a cry that still comes out of her, cracked and broken. It sounds a little bit like his name, and Stiles thinks he could hear that all day and never tire of it.

Breathing heavily, she twists and moans slightly at the loss of his fingers. “Oh,” she hisses, turning the wheel to pull into her driveway. Still coming down from her orgasm, she parks the car with a jerky movement before throwing her head back and seemingly melt in the seat. “Ten minutes,” she informs him, licking her lips as he pulls his mouth off of her shoulder and moves it to her own.

The looks that he gives her is wild, fierce and untamed. The fact that he gives it to her while he licks his fingers clean makes her want to climb him like a tree, and she realizes just how sensitive she is as she runs her own fingers along her folds, gathering up as much of her slick as she can. She feeds it to him and tries not to moan at the way he doesn’t even hesitate to sweep his tongue over her skin. “What’s my prize?”

Unable to wait until they get out of the car, Stiles practically yanks her to him and kisses her fiercely. “You get to ride my face and my cock,” he informs her, catching her bottom lip between his teeth and sucking harshly.

She’s just come, but Lydia can’t help but be turned on by his words. “Tell me you’re staying the night,” she demands of him, raking a hand through his hair and tugging gently.

“My car is at my apartment, so I don’t think I have a choice. I rode to the club with Scott.” Stiles turns their kiss into more of a clash of teeth and tongue. “I can’t believe we just did that, fuck,” he says as he realizes what they’ve just done. “You were so good, you fucked yourself on my hand. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, you have no idea. And God, can you taste yourself on me? I can’t wait to eat you out and taste you firsthand, get your juices dribbling on my chin. You’re probably sensitive now, too, and I haven’t shaved in a couple of days, oh, God. You’re going to be so hot, I can’t believe it,” he moans, capturing her lips once more before she pulls away.

Licking her lips, Lydia stares at him with scrutiny before saying decisively, “The most I’ve ever come in one night is four times. You’re going to break that record, alright?”

Stiles takes back what he thought earlier in the night, about how Lydia propositioning him was the hottest thing he’d ever heard. He was wrong, so wrong, because these words now are the winners. He’s powerless to say no, just nods helplessly and practically throws himself out of the car in order to make it back over to her. 

They practically trip over each other as they make it up the steps, and if Lydia fumbles with the key when he digs his fingers into her hip, neither of them mention it. She tugs him down to get another kiss, hand searching for the door handle before swinging the entrance open.

The inside of Lydia’s home is the same as Stiles remembers it, so he doesn’t spend any time looking around, just gets through the doorway and makes a grab for the banshee, holding her against him after shutting the door behind him. “How are we both still fully dressed?” he asks, disbelievingly looking at all the layers of clothes between them.

“There seemed to be a car in the way,” Lydia says drily, squirming slightly in his grasp. “Bedroom,” she mentions before kissing him, moving forward and crashing their lips together without a moment’s hesitation. They stand in the room like that, though, neither eager to move far. “Really though,” she says, pushing on him slightly. They have plenty of time to fuck in her living room later, but the bed is where she wants to go now.

“Yeah, yeah, bedroom, sure thing,” he gasps, following where she leads him as he kicks his shoes and socks off along the way, continually diving back at her to get his mouth on her for just a little bit longer. “Can I put on some music, a playlist or something?”

Opening her bedroom door, she nodded and fisted a hand in his button down to pull him closer. “Yeah, sure. As long as your ‘playlist’ isn’t Uptown Funk on repeat. Stay here, I need to do something.” She kissed him once more before releasing him and walking into her master bathroom.

“It’s an instant classic,” he protests, but nonetheless pulls out his phone and picks different songs. “And if you take your clothes off yourself and deprive me of that opportunity, so help me God, Lydia, I’ll put you back in them just to tear that piece of fabric you call a dress off again. I mean it, Lydia, I have been dreaming of this since I was fourteen and saw you wear one of those criminally short skirts. If you don’t let me do this, I’m leaving.” He knows he’s being ridiculous, sort of, but it makes him feel better when he hears her call out an affirmative.

From the bathroom, Lydia rolls her eyes. “If you leave, I’ll track you down and drag you back here and tie you up naked and use you like a sex toy until I’m satisfied,” she yells. From the bedroom, Stiles is suspiciously quiet, probably thinking over her suggestion. Something for next time, then. She makes a mental note to figure out the best way to tie restrictive knots as she finishes up and stands in the doorway.

When he sees her, he can’t help the smirk that crawls onto his mouth. She looks like a goddess, she must know it, and he knows that she has to know it. With her crown of copper hair flowing down, and the dress she’d wore to the club looking as though she’d been poured into it… His throat goes dry just looking at her. “God, Lydia, look at you.” It comes out practically as a moan, but he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed. He’s never been able to keep himself in control when it comes to her.

She grins at him, looking at him sitting across from her on the armchair. He looks like he belongs in the room, like he was one of things she’d ordered from a furniture catalogue and had delivered to her door. The thought doesn’t displease her. “Direct me,” she finally declares.

His look of confusion must be written plainly enough for her to see, because she elaborates and says, “Tell me where to go, and how. I’ll do anything I’m comfortable with until I decide I want to be in control again or you decide that you want me to be. Direct me.”

This must be one of his fantasies that’s become a little too realistic, and Stiles can’t help himself when he opens the button on his jeans, only to be surprised when Lydia shouts at him to stop. He looks up at her to find her, still across the room, glowering at him.

“You said that if I undressed myself, you’d put my clothes back on me just to tear them off yourself. The same goes for you. I’m undressing you tonight, so redo that button and give me some direction before I shove your face between my thighs where it belongs,” she snaps, licking her lips at the very thought.

Without a doubt, he knows that this woman is going to be the death of him. His buttons his jeans again and leans back, considering what would be best. Finally, slowly, an image comes to mind. “I want you to come over to me, but slowly,” he says finally, watching as Lydia adopts a sultry look and approaches him at a nearly glacial pace. It’s delectable, everything he’s ever wanted, and yet he finds himself yelling, “Wait!”

She does as instructed, stopping in her tracks to look at him. “Anything you want,” she says finally, when it’s clear that he’s still studying her.

Swallowing, he tries to adopt a causal air as he says, “Take off your shoes.” She kicks the high heels off easily, eyes on him the whole time. “Crawl to me. On your hands and knees.” He watches as she does so without hesitation, crawling over to him slowly, swaying her hips as she does. Stiles has thought about dying a lot, and he’s always thought that dying from sex would be the best way to go, easy. He’d never given it much thought beyond that, which is a shame, because he thinks that there’s a chance he’s going to die from Lydia Martin and he hasn’t even given a thought into which position would be the most fun way to go in.

When she’s finally reached him, he stands slowly, staring down into her bedroom eyes with lust of his own. Running through ideas of what he’d like best next, one idea keeps coming up with perfect clarity. “Take off my belt and unbutton my jeans with your hands and draw the zipper down with your teeth,” he says, almost whispering.

She makes quick worl of the belt and button, and she gives him a look that goes straight to his cock when she moves forward to take the zipper with her teeth. She’s had to have redone her lipstick in the bathroom, because their unpracticed kissing had left pink smudged around her mouth earlier and now her lips are perfectly painted once more. He probably has some of the remnants of the previous coat somewhere around his mouth, he thinks as she drags the zipper down over his cock that’s gotten painfully hard.

“Don’t. I’m the one removing your clothing tonight,” Lydia reprimands him as he tries to shove his jeans out of the way. He freezes and pulls them back up to his hips. “Tell me what you want.”

All of the times that he had imagined having Lydia Martin on her knees in front of him, Stiles had always assumed that she’d been the one telling him what to do. He certainly doesn’t mind the opposite, but he hadn’t really prepared for it. “Can you try giving me some directions right now?” he stutters out, hoping that she won’t mind. There are too many options to choose from, and it’s making him dizzy.

Running her tongue over her bottom lip, she nods and reaches for the material before pausing. “What’s your refractory period?” she asks, moving his jeans slowly along his thighs to reveal his navy boxers. When he hasn’t answered, she puts a hand on his hip and digs her nails in lightly. “What’s your refractory period?” she asks again, displeasure evident in her voice. He knows how she hates to repeat herself.

Stiles cannot remember the last time he came twice in one sexual encounter, and the thought makes him groan, rolling his head back. “Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes?” he guesses. Really, he’s pretty sure that it’s around twenty five because he isn’t a teenager anymore, but this is Lydia Martin. Stiles is sure his dick can get the message.

Doing the math quickly, Lydia can’t help the wicked grin that springs onto her face. “Perfect,” she says, finally. After that, she works the elastic of his boxers down his legs until they drop to the floor and his freed erection is in front of her. “Kick those aside and sit down. You can tug on my hair in a way that isn’t quiet gentle, but don’t make it rough. And keep talking, please. It’s nice to hear,” she says, repositioning her hands on his hips before taking the head of his cock into her mouth and running her tongue along the underside.

He’s already fully hard, and the shaky breath he lets loose only serves as encouragement. The sight of her head moving as she starts to take more of him into the wet heat of her mouth is enough to make him religious, although he isn’t sure which kind. Usually so talkative, she’s stolen all of his words from him, and it isn’t until she taps a manicured nail against his hip as a reminder that he stops to remember her instructions. He doesn’t have a hand on her head so he can’t be pulling too hard on her hair, and then he recalls the last bit.

“Oh yeah, you want me to keep talking,” he says breathlessly, trying to keep from rocking forward to her at the humming noise she makes in response. Jesus Christ, the human body is amazing. “Fuck,” he comments, voice near reverence, unable to help his shallow thrusts as he gives in to her. “God, Lyds, I know it’s maybe a little weird to think about how pretty you are while you’ve got my dick in your mouth, but really. It’s a crime for you to look this good. Your lips are stretched so nice for me, all pretty and pink. Is that why you did your lipstick again?” he babbles, anything that comes to mind flowing out.

“Yeah, yeah, you went in to fix your hair, probably looked in the mirror and saw how smudged your lipstick had gotten. It was perfect when you came into the club, I’m the one that fucked it up, God. You came into the club and looked perfect, so fuckable. That’s what I thought when I saw you tonight, you know, that black dress makes your tits look like something out of a porn magazine, but you probably know that. You definitely know that, that’s probably why you wore it.” Letting a moan free when Lydia lifts her other hand to his balls, Stiles keeps talking, “Fuck, you’re so good, fuck. So pretty, God, so pretty for me, aren’t you?”

He’s getting close, which is almost embarrassing for the amount of time that they’ve been like this, but then he remembers fingering Lydia on the ride over and how really it’s been longer than he thought. Reaching out and tangling one hand in her hair, he pulls gently and lets a moan loose. “I’m close, oh, like, I thought I’d be able to make it a little longer. Oh, God, how am I supposed to last when you’re like this?” Squeezing his eyes shut in the hope that not seeing her would be able to help him, Stiles pants slightly with the effort.

Watching Stiles struggle to keep his release at bay, Lydia decides she’s not going to take pity on him. Instead, she uses her tongue to trace the vein on the underside of the weight in her mouth, relishing the high pitched tone that his chatter takes on as he struggles to keep from yelling. She’s having fun with this, bringing him this close and not quite letting him have it. Humming lowly, she watches him bite his lip. Honestly, she should put him out of his misery and let him come to orgasm, but she keeps her hand steady on his hip so that he can’t manage thrusts much deeper than the shallow ones she’s letting him have.

Nevertheless, Stiles can’t contain himself when she lets her teeth scrape ever so gently along him. He comes with a shout, twisting in Lydia’s hair with vigor. Looking down, he sighs at the sight of Lydia swallowing him down as she releases his cock from her mouth. “You’re so pretty, really. I can never believe how pretty you are,” he tells her, reaching down and tugging for her to come on the armchair with him.

Swiping her tongue over her lips, she kisses up his stomach before moving to join him, placing her knees against the edge of the chair before lowering herself to sit where her core is over top of one of his thighs. “Mhmm,” she agrees with him, leaning forward to kiss him gently. As he lays there and simply gives in to the kiss, still slightly overcome by his release, she moves her fingers deftly along his button down, opening it up as she moves along. “Can you get the sleeves down?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says numbly, taking his arms quickly from the sleeves. From there, she slips her hands under the hem of his undershirt and pulls it up gently. He goes with her, raising his arms to make it easier to get the shirt over his head and out of the area. “It’s not fair,” he mumbles, leaning forward to bite playfully at her neck, not missing the distracted sigh that she lets out at the contact.

“What’s not fair?” she asks, trailing her hand down his chest, pausing to watch how his muscles jump occasionally under her touch. Lydia wouldn’t exactly classify this turn of events as ‘fair’, per say, but she would call it favorable. It’s close enough in her books.

Arching so that he could grab her by the armpits and drag her to where she was laying against him, he kisses her with the barest of pressures before pulling back and skimming his hands along her sides. “Well, here I am, all naked and vulnerable. And you’re… You still have all the clothes you were wearing when we got through the door.”

Scratching her nails gently against his chest, she nods. “You had the opportunity to undress me. I mean, I thought you didn’t want to… And I’m not fully dressed. I took off my heels,” she points out, tapping a bare foot against his calf as if to emphasize her point. She continues to explore his body, palming his abdominals with a grin. “Been hitting the gym, have we?”

“Scott drags me with him a few times a week. You have no idea what working out with a werewolf does to ones ego,” Stiles complains, woefully pouty as he says so. 

Trailing a finger over the hard planes of his stomach, she rocks herself gently on her heels and shakes her head at the sight of him. He’s always been long and lanky, but fighting for ones life for nearly a decade can put some well-earned muscle on anyone, and it looks good on Stiles. She wants to spend a ridiculous amount of time tracing his body with her tongue, but she settles for her fingers. “You’ve got nothing to have a bruised ego over.”

He meets her for a kiss, bringing up a hand on the back of her neck to keep her locked against him. Having her like this is close to everything that he has ever wanted, so much better than any of the ways that he ever could have imagined it. Lydia has always burned too brightly for him to ever get too close to the flames, but now he wants to be devoured and devour her in turn. Turning the kiss from one of longing to one of passion, he slips past her parted lips and moans when she drags her nails down the side of his face, gently enough that he doubts the lines she leaves behind will be red for long.

“You’re sort of perfect,” he groans, standing without breaking the kiss. She is, he knows she is, with her mind always racing a thousand miles a minute, even when she seems distracted. “Have you thought of this before?” he asks, walking towards the wall and pushing her against it.

“Mm, it’s… I’ve thought about it,” she confesses, tilting her head to meet his forehead with her own.

Spinning her around to undo the buttons at the back of her dress, Stiles mouths at her neck a bit more and, as the zipper reaches the bottom, lets a hand wander under the fabric and palm her. “Was it good?” Feeling the wet material of her underwear, he smirks and tries to make up his mind on which piece of clothing he should peel off of her first.

Apparently fed up with his coyness, Lydia reaches behind her to grab his hips and draws him against her, grinding shamelessly all the while. “It was. You have longer fingers, though,” she mentions, biting her lip.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing, just that he has to keep her like this, so he makes quick work of getting her dress out of the way and unclips her bra along with it. Walking in front of her, he takes a moment to appreciate the sight before him. He’d always known Lydia was hot, they’ve been to enough of Scott’s swimming and barbeque parties together for him to have never seen her in a bikini, plus there was the fact that practically half of Beacon Hill High School saw her naked at one point, but this… This is something else.

“Do you like what you see?” she asks him, stepping towards him for another kiss.

He nods, giving in to her touch. “Don’t,” he tells her halfheartedly, taking his lips off of hers for a moment. “Don’t act like you don’t know what you do to me, because it’s crazy. I’ve wanted you for years, and you’re… You’re kind of my everything.”

The blush that starts in her cheeks and makes its way to her chest makes her feel more exposed than her near nakedness does. It’s only when she feels him unexpectedly push past her panties and reach a finger into her folds that she gasps. “Is it good? Different than you’d thought it might be?” she questions, pressing her mouth to his shoulder.

He pauses his exploration and cups her chin in his other hand until she’s looking into his eyes. “Lyds, you pressed me against a wall and sucked on my fingers until I said I’d come back with you, rode my hand on the way here while you drove, and told me I have to make you come five times by the end of the night. It’s nothing like I’d hoped for. It’s so much better,” he announces, triumphant as he presses hard against her clit.

Lydia doesn’t have much to say in response to that, just gasps and rolls her eyes up to the ceiling. “Four more,” she whispers, trying to keep her composure.

“Four more,” Stiles agrees, before dropping to his knees and hooking his thumbs under the sheer material. Only when he’s eye level with her core does he reveal her sex, working her underwear until it’s past her knees and has dropped to the ground. Then he does the hottest thing that Lydia’s ever seen: he licks his lips.

She does the only thing that seems sensible. She whimpers, ever so slightly, because this is something she’s always been curious about. Stiles has an oral fixation, it’s obvious, everyone knows it. With the way he chews pens until the plastic is discolored, how he can’t stop running his tongue around the rim of a beer bottle even after he’s drained the contents. She’s always wondered, though, if he’s good at it. Interested in and excellent at are two very different things, but she thinks that she knows what to expect.

He drags his eyes over her form before standing back up, gathering her in his arms, and throwing her onto the bed. It’s a near-miss, but she barely makes it, only her legs dangling off of the side. At her disgruntled expression, he shimmies his hips and leaps onto the comforter with her as he says, “The gym was good for things other than ruining my self-esteem.”

“Don’t manhandle me,” she snaps, arranging herself to where she’s against the headboard.

“I was under the impression that I was woman-handling you,” he quips, rolling over and nuzzling her stomach while his hand travels up her side and feels at her breast. “What are you, a C-cup?”

She swats him and shoves him off with her legs before climbing on top of him. “You little shit,” she laughs at him when he grabs her armpits and wiggles his fingers. Ticklish to the very core, Lydia can’t help when she cries out and tries to kick at him helplessly.

Flipping them over, he continues to tickle her even as she fights at him, finally giving up when she shoves her face into a pillow in an attempt to at least muffle the sound of her laughter. When she glances up at him in her surrender, she finds that Stiles is staring down at her with darkened eyes, giving her a look that she doesn’t quite know what to do with. Opening her mouth to ask him if he’s alright, he distracts her wonderfully by surging downward to kiss her with a harshness she hadn’t expected from him. It’s nothing more than the pressure of lips on lips at first, but then he deepens the kiss, licking into her, filthy and determined, and she wraps her arms around his neck to bring him closer.

The room is filled with the noises they are making into each other’s mouths and the song coming from speakers that Stiles connected to his phone before Lydia came out of the bathroom. Stiles can’t really believe that he’s actually here, and by here he partially means that he’s surprised that he even made it to 26 in the first place and also that he can’t believe he’s actually here, in Lydia Martin’s bedroom as she moves against him.

Sucking on his bottom lip, she moves her hips slowly underneath his. When he pulls back to shimmy down her form from her face to her chest, she can’t help but to watch expectantly as he flattens his tongue against her nipple before licking around the edges. And this is nice, him doing this, but her nipples aren’t particularly sensitive and her cunt is. So while she appreciates the foreplay, she really thinks they should be getting to the main event. Or, one of the main events. She’s practically giddy at the thought, but then Stiles starts to suck on the edge of her hip bone and she digs her fingers into the mattress in anticipation.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Stiles asks her, the cocky glint in his eye letting her know he already knows the answer, so when she huffs at him instead of giving a real answer, he rolls his eyes. “I’m getting to it, babe.”

“Don’t call me babe,” she instructs halfheartedly, nerves strung too tight to really care. She pinches his nipple anyway, smirking when she sees the ways he reacts.

He kisses down to the inside of her thigh and shifts to where one of his shoulders is under her leg. “Anything you say, sugar tits.”

She means to pull him up by his hair in retaliation, maybe give him a lecture on the possessive nature of pet names and on how objectification reduces people to their body parts and diminishes all of their other attributes, but then he runs his tongue along her very outskirts, refusing to tough her where she needs it, and what she says instead is, “Tongue-fuck me like you mean it.”

At first she thinks it’s him just being restless and moving his hands around, but Lydia manages to recognize the thumbs up that he gives her before doing as she’s told him. She’s still slightly sensitive from having already come, but it’s not bad, and it’s making her hyperaware of everything that Stiles is doing beneath her. Not that she wouldn’t have already noticed, but she feels like she’s paying even better attention than she’s usually able to.

Moving so that his nose bumps slightly against the hood of her clit, he manages to get one of his hands over to help him, slipping into her with two fingers as he uses his tongue to just move around. Her unexpected gasp is all he needs before he’s trying to find the angle that he found in her car, crooking his fingers in search of hearing her moan reverberate through her body down to him. He’ll be able to feel it perfectly, he knows, and he feels the blood rush to his dick at the thought. It’s only after slipping his third and fourth fingers into her that he’s fairly sure he knows the exact spot that drove her crazy before, even if he isn’t going to use it at the moment.

“Stiles,” she moans, trying to stop herself from going crazy by digging her nails into her palm. She was so close, but now he’s not reaching far enough or going fast enough and everything is close but nothing is just right. It feels like she’s moving further away from her release instead of closer to it, and she’s wound up so tightly. The car wasn’t enough. It gave her what she needed then, but it didn’t give her what she needs now. “Stiles, please.”

It’s the ‘please’ that does it for him. He’s always been a stickler for manners. So even though he’d planned on making her work a little bit harder for it, he does what any sane man would do with a woman who sounds like an angel above him: he gives her what she wants. Making sure that his fingers are aligned to go exactly where he wants them to, he thrusts them into her and presses on her clit with his tongue. The noises that’s making above him, quiet whimpers and moans, go quiet for half a second before they come back tenfold. She’s so close, he can feel it, so he keeps it up, even as she keeps up a litany of curses interspersed with his name.

Lydia practically curses her way to orgasm, especially when he keeps pushing her through it. She tosses her head back and scrapes at his arm to let him know she’s done, but he keeps going. She’s so sensitive that she shuts her eyes and lets him guide her through the process all over again, coming once more with a sob.

Only when she’s limp against the headboard does Stiles finally relent, kissing his way along her body until he reaches her lips. “Satisfied?” he asks, grinning deliciously into her mouth.

He manages to extract a weak moan from her, and she bites his lip teasingly. “Very,” she grants him, running a hand along his back, settling on his shoulder to give herself a little leverage into him.

They make out almost lazily for a few minutes, and when the song changes and Lydia tenses, Stiles almost doesn’t notice until Lydia’s pulling away and frowning at him in the sternest expression he’s seen her wear since the time they faced a troll and it implied that Lydia was a hag instead of a banshee. “Stiles, what is this?” she demands, eyebrows drawn together as the beginning of Uptown Funk comes out of the speakers.

Stiles freezes momentarily before trying for a small smile. “The greatest hit of our generation?” he guesses, only slightly ashamed of his music taste. He’s grown to embrace pop, and he’s not that embarrassed to admit that he sings in the shower to Bruno Mars regularly.

She groans audibly and rolls her eyes. Lydia really cannot believe her taste in men. Still, she supposes that it’s not the worst song ever. That doesn’t mean it should be playing right now, though, and she rolls out from under Stiles to skip to the next song, only stopping when she hears his protest.

“You can’t! Come on, it’s fun,” he pleads with her, shaking his hips in time to the music. He looks ridiculous instead of alluring, and Lydia takes great pleasure in taking in the sight as she brings up the next piece of music. The next introductory chords have her gaping opening at him.

“Stiles! Did you put ‘The Thong Song’ on a sex playlist?” She’s going to kill him. Really and truly kill him.

At this song, he at least has the grace to look a little ashamed of himself. “In my defense, it makes sense.”

“I wasn’t wearing a thong,” she says motioning haphazardly to her pile of clothes on the clothes.

“Yeah, yeah. Skip it and get back here. We have more pressing matters to attend to than my shit taste in seductive music,” he says, waiting patiently as she skips again and waits to make sure it’s something she won’t have to yell at him for again.

“You’re strange,” she informs him, climbing back onto the bed and practically curling around him. Meeting his lips gently, she splays her hands out on his chest and hums as she runs through the names of the different muscles as she touches them.

Pulling away slightly, he asks, “What are you mumbling?”

“The names of different muscles,” she answers, snaking her mouth over to his earlobe before dragging her teeth over the skin. 

It’s such a Lydia answer, so direct and unabashed. Stiles had thought about sex with Lydia before, sure, but most aspects had been up to debate. This, her assurance in her own actions, had always come across crystal clear. He’s pleased to know that he was right about that, at the least. He hums in response, shocked when she places her teeth over his throat and pushes down with the barest of pressures. 

Before he’s even aware of it, he’s hard again, and groaning into her mouth as they trade sloppy kisses. “Refractory period over,” he announces, grinding into her hip as though to prove his point. “How sensitive are you?” The last thing that he wants to do is hurt her.

“Wonderfully so,” she voices, only a little surprised as he moves a hand between her thighs and feels her wetness.

“Let me grab a condom,” Stiles tells her, getting off the bed and going to his jeans on the floor, where he digs in the pocket before pulling out his wallet and subsequently pulling a condom from the wallet.

“How long has that been in there?” she asks cautiously, rolling to watch him.

He glances back at her and shrugs. “Why?”

“Friction and temperature make the material thinner and more prone to failure. I have a roll here,” she says, rummaging through the drawer in her nightstand before waving a strip of condoms in triumph. Tearing one off, she motions for him to come back. 

“I don’t know if I’m supposed to find you talking science hot or not,” Stiles says, clearly trying to check whether his head and his cock are on the same page, “but I clearly do.”

She rolls her eyes. Talking science is something she does regularly, and he’s regularly attracted to her. She really needs to go through a better vetting process of the guys she sleeps with, but Stiles only comes across stupid when he lets his body get ahead of his mind. She supposes that she can forgive him. “Do you remember what you agreed to when you said you’d come home with me?” she asks, staring at him through purposeful bedroom eyes.

If there’s one thing that turns him on, it’s when Lydia looks at him as though she is a predator and she’s going to have fun before she goes in for the kill. This is one of those times, and Stiles can’t wait until the hunt begins. “No,” he tells her, trying to remember exactly what he must have promised her. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if he somehow soul his soul for this. Lydia’s always had a way of making everything else seem unimportant.

“I’m going to make you forget everything except my name, and we’re going to fuck so hard that my bedframe breaks,” she says factually, no hint of emotion in her tone. He lets out a slightly desperate moan all the same, and that’s when she knows she’s got him. Moving over to approach him on the very edge of the bed, she takes his bottom lip into her mouth and sucks hard. 

“Lydia,” he can’t help but murmur into her. 

“That’s the idea,” she agrees, gripping his bicep as she leads him over top of her. As he moves down her body, settling his mouth on her collarbone, she takes advantage of her freed mouth and rips open the packet with her teeth, trying not to taste the latex as she does so. Her smirk at the victory is short lived, however, as it’s overtaken by the gasp she can’t stop herself from emitting when he pushes two fingers into her heat.

From there, she tries to get the condom on a few times before Stiles rolls his eyes and does it himself while making some comment about having to do all the work. She pinches his nipple for that but doesn’t reply, getting slightly incoherent with the rhythm he’s working into her. She won’t be able to last long, and she knows it.

“Please tell me you’re ready, because really, I have no idea how long I’m going to last and I don’t care how embarrassing that sounds,” he pleads, worrying his lip as he takes in the site of her.

“God, yes,” she says, only slightly disappointed at the loss of his fingers. “Come on,” she urges as he aligns himself at her entrance.

He goes slowly at first, though it’s obvious to both of them how much it pains him to do so. And Lydia thinks it’s sweet, really, but she’s come three times tonight. If anything, the lingering thrust is driving her crazier than it ought to. He must get her message, because the second time he pushes into her it leaves them both babbling.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he mutters, peppering her jawline in chaste kisses. It’s the truest thing he’s ever had, her beginning to make the most wonderful noises beneath him as he finds a rhythm that’s comfortable.

Breathing heavily, she digs her nails into his back and practically growls at him, “I thought we agreed I’d need a new bedframe.”

Whatever filter that he normally has is never present during sex, and his brain has a direct line to his mouth at this point. Stiles picks up the pace and slams into her harder. “Fuck, oh my God, I take back what I said. You’re not perfect. You are evil and it turns me on, Christ, you know that? Of course you do, you know just what you do to me. You have to, oh, yeah,” he says, leaning down to lick a stripe from her breasts to her throat.

“Right there,” Lydia manages, knowing that her nails must be hurting him but unable to bring herself to stop. If he didn’t like it, he wouldn’t be moaning so loudly, she reasons. Meeting his thrusts, she gives herself over to the pleasure.

She comes apart first, muffling her cries into his skin and biting down into the freckled flesh as he keeps going until his own release. He leaves her gasping softly as he rolls away and kisses while she comes down. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he says, intending for the words to come across as a lament. His voice gives his true feelings away, though, and she hears the thrum of excitement.

Standing and walking to the bathroom, Lydia comments, “To die would be an awfully big adventure.”

“Don’t quote Peter Pan to me,” he calls to her, rolling over and looking around for the trashcan.

When she comes out of the bathroom and passes him a washcloth, he takes it gratefully as he tosses the condom in the trashcan that he’d finally located. “Why do girls always pee after sex?” he asks, collapsing back onto the bed and rolling over to look at her.

“That’s my side of the bed,” she says, taking back the washcloth and throwing it into the bathroom. “It helps prevent UTIs. Now, move,” she motions, getting into her preferred side with a victorious grin. She tangles her legs with his and watches with interest as he giggles and looks at her neck. “What?”

“It looks like you’ve been attacked,” he points out, staring at the various bruises he’d put around her neck and collarbone. 

She waves off his attention and props herself up on an elbow to give his back the once over. As she suspected, she may have been a little liberal with her nails. The red marks litter his back, a fine bit of handiwork. “I’m not the only one,” she counters proudly, rolling against him.

They lay that way for a few minutes, and as Lydia is close to asleep, Stiles has to pull her from her state of near unconsciousness by saying, “You only came four times. I said I was going to beat the record.” He sounds almost disappointed, and it may be one of the sweetest after sex comments that she’s ever heard.

Still, she’s a little too tired to try for anything else. “Wake me up with morning sex,” she instructs, closing her eyes again as he does the same.


End file.
